


Sweet Taste of Poison

by grungerofgotham



Series: the confession series [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, Gertrude is okay in this one I promise, Getting Together, Kissing, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Poisoning, Pre-Relationship, more like Canon Adjacent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23528377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grungerofgotham/pseuds/grungerofgotham
Summary: Is it a good idea to take a delirious love confession at face value?
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley, Gertrude Robinson & Michael Shelley
Series: the confession series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1694602
Comments: 10
Kudos: 102





	Sweet Taste of Poison

**Author's Note:**

> Ngl writing Gertrude and Michael as bros was really fun. I had fun with this one, hope y'all do too

Gerry hadn’t felt too apprehensive when he’d looked up at the store. Lion Street Books. It looked pretty much the same as any other antique bookshop you might find in Chichester. Gerry had hardly glanced at the faded sign above the door; hardly registered the tinkling of the bell when he entered. All he was here for was that book. Ex Altiora. Well; strictly speaking, he knew it wasn’t here, he’d read the statement. But if anyone knew where to find it, it was this guy: Herbert Knox. 

He’s swiftly whisked away into a back room at the mention of the book’s title. Herbert Knox is skittish as hell, and it puts Gerry instantly on edge as he scuttles around the wide oak desk and gestures to the chair opposite it. Gerry takes the seat hesitantly, hackles going up instantly when the heavy wooden door closes behind them. There’s another door in the room, tucked beside a bookshelf, also closed. This situation isn’t great- but he stays his ground- he needs to know. 

Herbert Knox leans over his desk, hands clasped on top of it as he glances furtively around the empty room. He damn near whispers his next words, “You know I already gave my statement. How could you possibly need to know more? Why must I relive my trauma so many times?”

Gerry lifts his hands in a placating gesture, almost feeling bad for dredging up the incident again, but not quite managing. There is something off about this guy. “I don’t work for the Magnus Institute, Mr. Knox. I’m simply here to, uh, enquire about the current whereabouts of the book. I know you know more than you told them.”

“I already said in my statement- Michael has it,” the man says, eyes shining wide and darting again to the door behind Gerry.

There’s half a second of confusion in Gerry’s mind. Michael has it? No, he’s at the Institute, probably making Gertrude some tea. Mike Crew has the book. And Herbert Knox knows where Mike Crew is.

“And you know where Mike is, right Herbert?” Gerry says, growing quite tired of all this pussyfooting around.

“I do not,” he answers quickly.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Knox straightens in his chair, leaning back as a strange look passes over his face. It smoothes quickly and Knox smiles placidly, “Would you like some tea?” 

“No, I-,” Gerry watches warily as the man shuffles hurriedly to his feet and out the back door, the small one behind the desk. He wonders briefly whether he’ll be gone long enough for Gerry to rifle through his desk, but Knox bustles back in before long, and thrusts a mug of tea into his hand. The ceramic is scalding, the tea looks as weak as water, and the mug itself feels almost… slimy? There is no way in hell you could get Gerard Keay to drink this.

“Uh, thanks, but I’m not stupid enough to drink this,” he says, voice too confident, setting the tea down on the counter.

“Oh, no worries, just touching it is fine,” Knox says, smiling pleasantly as Gerry’s vision starts to fade to black around the edges.

“Well, fuck,” Gerry says, then collapses out of the chair.

*

“Knock knock, ha, uh, sorry, Ms. Robinson, have you seen Gerry- ah, Gerard, today?” Michael taps his knuckles against Gertrude’s office door, receiving an impassive look in return, “It’s just that, well, he mentioned, last time I saw him, he mentioned he’d probably be in about this time, and I haven’t seen him, and I know how dangerous his job can be, and you know how I worry! Ha, um, but, sorry, have you seen him?”

Gertrude finishes giving him a dry look and shifts her gaze back down to the papers in her hand, “I believe he said something about a bookshop in Chichester.” She pauses and lifts her head, “Actually yes, I wonder if he has gotten into trouble. It might do well to track him down.”

“Oh! Ah, right now?” Michael says, straightening up in surprise as Gertrude stands from her desk and retrieves her coat from the rack beside the door.

“Yes, ever since he gave his statement, Herbert Knox has gone a little… off the rails, shall we say,” Gertrude heads past him and down the hall, leaving Michael to trot behind her. Michael is always surprised how fast she is; her legs are just so much _shorter_ than his.

“Is he- is he dangerous?” Michael says, wringing his hands and grabbing his own jacket on the way to the elevator.

“I don’t doubt it,” she says. Michael begins to fret- well, he’s never not fretting, but now there might actually be something to fret about. His apprehension is growing by the second.

They take a cab up to Chichester and quickly find themselves in front of Lion Street Books. Gertrude enters the shop without a second glance at the sign, and Michael hurries after her. The bell above the door rings cheerily as they enter, the high chime cutting through the instantly tense atmosphere.

“Herbert,” Gertrude greets the man behind the counter icily. Michael is so glad she’s never used that tone with him- he thinks he might just die if she did.

The man, to his credit, looks _scared_. Okay, maybe Michael would be upset if Gertrude spoke that way to him, but that’s only because it probably means he did something wrong, it’s not like she would hurt him. This man looks like he’s in mortal peril. Michael has to stifle a smile.

Herbert Knox stutters feebly, “H-he said he didn’t work for the Institute, he-,” he babbles to a halt, holding his tongue as Gertrude stares him down.

“Where is he now?” she says slowly.

“I dumped him in an alley, three- no, four, buildings down,” he shakes as he relays the information.

Gertrude turns toward Michael, and Knox flinches at her movement. “Come on, then, Michael, no time to waste.”

“Oh, right,” he startles and turns back to the door and heads out onto the street. “If he really did harm Gerry, Ms. Robinson, shouldn’t we be calling the police? I mean surely they should do something about this?”

“They won’t be able to do anything, I’m afraid. Best thing to do is hope he’s still alive.”

“ _Alive?_ You mean there’s a chance he could be…? Surely not! I mean, Mr. Knox is just an old man!”

Gertrude scoffs at this, the corner of her mouth tugging upward, “And I’m just an old woman.”

Michael doesn’t know how to respond to that, so instead just keeps walking.

They find Gerry propped against a wall behind a dumpster with a note stapled to his chest reading ‘Don’t come back.’ He’s unconscious and completely unresponsive, but still breathing and apparently unharmed.

“Oh, god, what’s wrong with him?” Michael gasps after several uneventful seconds of waving his hand in front of Gerry’s face and shaking him gently.

“No way to tell, really. Mr. Knox is quite partial to poisons, as I understand,” Gertrude’s mouth is pulled into a severe line. “Call us a taxi, won’t you?”

“A taxi? What about an ambulance?” Michael’s voice is strained. He hopes Gertrude doesn’t take offense at his tone; he’s under quite a bit of stress.

“I don’t believe that’s necessary. He doesn’t seem to be hurt, and Mr. Knox hasn’t deliberately harmed anybody thus far. The best course of action would be to observe him until he wakes up.”

Michael straightens from where he was crouching in front of Gerry and dials a taxi. He looks at Gertrude as they tell him a cab is on its way. If he didn’t know any better, Michael might say she looks worried. Gertrude doesn’t worry about anything though, apparently. Michael thinks she could be staring into the face of the devil himself, and not bat an eye.

“Pick him up, won’t you, Michael? He’s in no fit state to walk.”

“Uh, alright, then,” Michael gingerly brings Gerry’s arm around his neck, and heaves him up onto his shoulder in a fireman’s hold. “What will we tell the taxi driver?”

“Hah, they’d do well to mind their own business!” At Michael’s disquieted look she continues, “but if they should ask, tell them he’s drunk.”

Michael chuckles involuntarily, “Rather an odd situation, isn’t it, Ms. Robinson? A pair like us dragging around a goth like Gerry- ah, Gerard? It’s got to look a little strange.”

Gertrude nods quietly, and says, amusement colouring her tone, “You know, Michael, you needn’t pretend that you and Gerard aren’t close. I know you’re fond of the boy.”

Michael’s face burns bright as the taxi pulls onto the curb and they try their best to manoeuvre the unconscious man and themselves into the back seat. “Oh, uh, well, we aren’t really any- I mean, yes, I suppose I am rather fond of him, but that’s how people feel about their friends isn’t it, uh-.”

“He likes you, too, Michael,” Gertrude says.

Michael stutters out a rambling response between relaying his address to the driver.

“Oh, hush, boy, you’re allowed to have feelings,” she says, smiling a small fond look out the window as Chichester rolls into central London. 

“… Thanks, uh, thank you, Ms. Robinson,” Michael mumbles, sincerely shocked at the words. Huh, he’s allowed to feel things; how about that.

They arrive in front of Michael’s apartment building, and Gertrude pays the driver with a handsome tip, much to Michael’s protest. As it turns out, getting an unconscious body out of a cab is a lot harder than putting one in, and it takes several moments of shifting and grunting to get Gerry comfortably slung over Michael’s shoulders again. 

To his surprise, Gertrude follows him up to his flat. She takes the key from him exasperatedly as he struggles to unlock his front door while holding 80 kilos of dead weight. Once inside, Michael gently sets Gerry down on his sofa, arranging him so that his head is resting on one of many throw pillows Michael keeps around, and his feet are on- oh, god his grungy boots are on the _sofa_.

Michael gets to work tugging the laces on Gerry’s heavy boots apart, spying Gertrude not-so-subtly scoping out his place just inside the door. Finally managing to get the boots off, he says, “So, what can I do for him? I mean there’s not much I can do, except wait, really, and _fret_ , hah, but, uh, any ideas?”

Gertrude sighs and looks over to where Gerry lies, gaze gentle, and for lack of a better word, motherly, “Not much you can do, Michael, not much. I don’t suspect he’ll sleep for longer than 24 hours, but poison is tricky like that- you can never know for sure. Try not to worry too much.”

“Oh, ha, you know me, not an anxious bone in this body, no ma’am,” he laughs nervously, wringing his hands, eyes scanning over Gerry for any sign of movement.

Gertrude nods with something approaching a smile. “Well. I’ll be taking my leave now, call me if he dies.”

“Dies!” Michael squeaks, eyes wider than dinner plates.

“I’m kidding, dear boy, just a joke. Perhaps in bad taste, I’ll admit,” she pats his elbow consolingly, the only part of his arm she can reach, and moves to the front door. “Take care, Michael. You’ll both be fine, I’m sure.”

Michael lifts a hand in farewell, then collapses into an armchair, and proceeds to worry about everything for the next few hours. His google search history reads as follows.

_how to care for someone in coma_

_What to do when someones unconscious_

_How long do comas last_

_How to feed unconscious person_

None of these yield any information that puts Michael’s mind at ease, so he eventually succumbs to boredom and puts the telly on. He keeps the volume down low in case Gerry makes any noise.

Michael is just getting invested in a new episode of the Great British Bake Off when he hears a noise from the sofa. It’s rather dark out by now, and a glance at his phone reveals it’s nearly 9 o’clock. Gerry has been unconscious for at least 4 hours and he’s finally stirring.

Michael jumps up in relief and fusses over Gerry as he continues to murmur. He is disappointed to find that Gerry is not in fact waking up but dreaming instead. That’s a sign of life, at least. Brain activity is happening, that’s good, Michael thinks. He listens closely to the sounds burbling up from Gerry’s mouth.

“No… Fuckin... Jude, fuck you… M-I can’t,” the words are faint, few and far between, and Michael has a hard time picking any of them up. 

He mutes the telly and leans closer, only to hear more of the same. He sighs in disappointment, and briefly grips one of Gerry’s hands where it rests on his chest. Gerry’s face twitches at the contact and his mumblings rise in volume. “I can’t. Let… I can’t let you… d- let you die. Michael, don’t…”

Michael’s eyebrows shoot up at the sound of his name. ‘I can’t let you die’? Michael hadn’t heard that before, but that’s not to say Gerry and he hadn’t done a little dangerous field work in the past. 

Michael isn’t naïve. Gerry likes to tell him that he is, and Michael knows he doesn’t know everything, never will, but he knows enough. He knows there are evils in the world. He knows supernatural forces are real. He knows Gerry goes out doing dangerous things every day, and he knows he can’t just stand by and let him do so. It is true- Michael has done some stupid things. But he was only protecting his friend and if that makes him naïve, well, fuck it! Michael doesn’t care, because he saved Gerry from getting hurt that day, and that’s fine by him. He’d do it all over again if it came to it.

That’s what Gerry must be dreaming of. That’s the only time Michael’s been in any proper danger of dying. He can’t envision what else Gerry could be imagining.

Gerry’s brows draw together in a look of determination and sadness, fist tightening in the black fabric of his shirt where it lies against his sternum. His rambling picks up, clear as anything as he says, “You can’t die, Michael, I love you.”

_Oh._

Wait.

_What._

Michael blinks. No, he had heard it right. Gerry had said his name, followed by the phrase ‘I love you’. That doesn’t mean anything though. He could mean anything by that, really. There’s no way Gerard Keay loves Michael Shelley. Not in the way Michael wants… must be a different Michael. It’s not an uncommon name. From the statements alone there are plenty of Michaels. There’s Michael Crew? No, Gerry had expressly stated his hatred for the man not a few days ago.

It’s not like it wouldn’t be great if Gerry means exactly what it sounds like he means. Michael can’t deny, if Gerry said he loved him, he wouldn’t believe him, obviously, but he thinks it just might be the best feeling in the world to hear those words from him. Consciously, though. He… knows. Michael _knows_ his own feelings. However embarrassed by and divorced he forces himself to be from his emotions and desires, he does know them. And Michael Shelley is in love with Gerard Keay. He’s just never ever allowed himself to act upon the fact. Except do anything he can for Gerry, including lay down his life for hi- oh, god, is it _obvious_? Oh no, Michael is _so_ obvious! Even Gertrude knows! 

How could he have fooled himself into thinking no one knows? Well, if he fooled himself into believing that, he could definitely have tricked himself into thinking Gerry said I love you, just now, right? Right, so he heard something incorrectly, and Michael is fussing about it, as usual, no big deal, everything’s fine.

He moves to get up, shifting his hand from where it had lain on Gerry’s. Gerry frowns and mumbles, just loud enough for Michael to hear, “Don’t leave. I need you.”

Michael makes a little noise of distress, and hisses at Gerry, “Gerry, stop saying these things. You aren’t in your right mind and you shouldn’t toy with a person’s feelings like this!”

Gerry shifts, turning his face into the pillow, and says quietly, “Stay.”

Michael sighs and sits himself back down in the armchair beside where Gerry’s head is resting and stays there, for Gerry, throughout the night.

*

Gerry comes to in an unfamiliar place. He also feels sick as fuck. He bolts upright, and oh that is _so_ much worse and his head is _pounding_. He looks around him, specifically for something to puke in, but he seems to be in some place respectable; somewhere that vomiting into a random object would probably be frowned upon.

Then he spies Michael in the chair beside him, long limbs curled into what looks like a really uncomfortable position with his head on the armrest.

“Michael!” he says, and he sits up, wild eyed, until his gaze lands on Gerry with no small amount of surprise. “Michael, I’m gonna throw up- bathroom?”

“Oh! Oh, right, this way, this way, hold on,” he jumps up quickly, and Gerry is finally, blessedly, in front of a toilet. After several terrible minutes of retching into it, he slumps back, resting his burning face against the cool tile of the bathroom wall.

Michael is beside him. God, what would Gerry do without him? He eventually realises Michael is talking to him.

“… okay? You’ve been out since sometime yesterday afternoon, and I was so worried, I didn’t know if you’d be okay, Gertrude said you’d been poisoned, can you belie-.”

“Michael,” Gerry says, head stuffed full to bursting, “Quieter, please?”

“Sorry, yes!” he exclaims, then whispers, “Sorry. Do you need aspirin?”

“Yes, thanks,” Gerry mumbles pressing his hands to his temples. What the fuck did Knox give him?

Michael comes back promptly with a glass of water and two tablets. Gerry takes them gratefully and downs them both in one swallow. He looks up at Michael, silhouetted against the harsh bathroom light. He looks like an angel. He _is_ an angel. Wait, had Gerry dreamt something? There’s something tickling at the edge of his mind, but he can’t quite place it…

“So about last night,” Michael starts, practically reading Gerry’s mind. “Do you remember what you said?”

Gerry’s heart skips a beat. _Fuck_. He said something? What was it? Was it embarrassing? Did he confess something? Oh, god, what? “I said something?” he says, struggling to his feet, Michael springing forward to help.

“Oh, you don’t remember? Okay, uh, it wasn’t important, not to worry!”

Okay, Michael just said he shouldn’t worry about it. When Michael tells you not to worry, that’s more of a cause for concern than any Leitner. He definitely said something weird. His head throbs as he moves back into the living room with Michael. He can’t think about this right now. Maybe when the aspirin kicks in.

“Michael?” Gerry asks, gingerly setting himself back down on the sofa.

“Yeah?”

“What happened yesterday? After that prick poisoned me?”

“Oh, well, we found you in an alley. Still a bit unclear how you got there, but you were there, alright. Then we got you into a taxi and back here. Then you slept until just a moment ago,” Michael nods decisively, and does not meet Gerry’s eyes. What did Gerry _say?_

“Wait, who’s ‘we’?”

“Me and Gertrude.”

“You and Gertrude moved my heavy unconscious body from Chichester to here? Without an ambulance?”

Michael blushes and smiles sheepishly, “Well she didn’t have much to do with the moving part.”

“Michael you carried me here? My hero!” He chuckles and bumps his fist weakly against his shoulder.

Michael freezes where he sits. It’s a thing he used to do, when Gerry first met him. Gerry would flirt, or compliment, or even just touch him in a friendly manner, and Michael would go stiff as a board, and giggle and blush himself into a useless puddle. It was the most endearing thing in the world, but Michael doesn’t do that all that often anymore. But he’s doing it now, and he will still not meet Gerry’s eyes. Gerry definitely said something incriminating when he was out.

“Well, I mean, I try my best,” he squeaks, twisting his hands together self-consciously. “And Gerry?”

“Yes, Michael?”

Michael’s face brightens again, the pink blush highlighting the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. “Would you stay here? Tonight? I need to know you’re really okay, before you leave.”

“Michael… I don’t know, I have a lot of stuff to do,” Gerry bites his lip. As much as they idea of staying in Michael’s apartment with him for a whole night where he isn’t unconscious and drugged up to the eyeballs is a dream come true… he really does have a lot of book-hunting to get back to.

“It would really make me feel better, and we could have pizza and watch a movie, or something, I just… I couldn’t live with myself if you left and this poison or whatever hurt you more, and I wasn’t there for you and-,” Michael breathes in a stuttering breath as he starts to ramble.

“Okay, Michael, I’ll stay,” Gerry chuckles, “Pizza and a movie sounds nice. Lord knows the last time I ate.”

Michael’s shoulders relax off the steep slope they had been climbing, and he smiles at Gerry, relieved. Gerry can’t get over the way he smiles. So big and bright, always tinged with something: sadness, apprehension, anxiety. Just once, Gerry would like to see him smile a purely happy smile. Not likely, working in the Institute, but a little hope never hurt anyone, right? As the smile drifts into something smaller, more subdued, Gerry begins to notice the bags beneath Michael’s eyes, and the unusually messy state of his hair, golden curls dull and frizzing from where they’re held back in a loose bun.

“Michael did you sleep last night?” Gerry finds himself asking.

Michael looks surprised at the question. Surprised that anyone might care, “Uh, well I didn’t really catch the time, it must have been pretty late, or early rather, don’t think I slept before 12, ha, but I’m fine, really, don’t worry.”

“You look exhausted Michael, Christ. Okay. How about you go shower, pick yourself up a little, take a nap maybe, and I’ll make lunch, or order it or something, alright?”

“No, Gerry, you are my guest I should be taking care of you, I-.” Michael begins to protest.

“Michael, listen, you have already done so much for me. You _are_ taking care of me, you literally dragged my ass back here after I was poisoned, you’ve given me your sofa to sleep on, you’re letting me stay here again tonight. Let me do this. I want to, okay?” Gerry makes sure Michael looks him in the eye, makes sure that Michael sees that he’s serious.

Michael sighs, “Okay. Don’t burn down my kitchen, though.”

Gerry grins, “Great. Now go take care of yourself.”

*

Gerry tries his best to cook lunch. He finds a packet of some pasta something in the cupboard and follows the instructions on the back. It turns out okay, by his standards, and by the time it’s ready, Michael has been passed out on his bed for at least 3 hours.

As far as Gerry can tell, Michael had barely gotten dressed after his shower in a pair of blue sweats and a yellow sunshine sweater before promptly collapsing on top of the covers, with his feet dangling off the side. Gerry had done his best to haul Michael’s long limbs into something resembling a comfortable position before throwing a heavy blanket over him.

When he goes in to wake him up for lunch, he’s exactly where he left him, and he almost feels bad, shaking his shoulder until Michael sits up blearily.

“How long was I out?” Michael says, yawning.

“Well it’s nearly 1 now.”

“One? Gerry you let me sleep for so long, why didn’t you wake me?” Michael even looks a little betrayed as he says this.

“Michael you were dead on your feet. You barely made it out of the shower before collapsing. Besides, I didn’t burn down the kitchen. I made lunch!” Gerry takes hold of Michael’s wrists and tugs until they’re in the kitchen and Michael is gingerly prodding at the bowl of pasta.

They spend the afternoon in front of the telly, chatting idly, and arguing light-heartedly over what to watch on Netflix. After pizza, it’s hardly even late, but Gerry is already feeling his eyelids beginning to droop. 

He allows himself to start drifting off to sleep, knowing that if he announces how tired he is, Michael will insist he take his bed, and he can’t have Michael sleeping on his own couch. Somewhere between wake and sleep, he feels Michael get off the couch and spread a blanket over him, tucking the corners around his feet. He hears Michael turn the tv off, but he doesn’t hear him leave.

Instead, he hears Michael sigh sadly. He’s about to sit up and ask him what’s wrong, when he feels Michael lean down, tracing a fingertip lightly across Gerry’s face, moving a few stray hairs out of the way. Michael presses a kiss to his forehead. It’s quick and dry and warm, then his footsteps are fading down the hall.

Gerry opens his eyes to the dark living room, heart fluttering. _Fuck, I want more of that._

*

Gerry wakes up the next morning to the smell of toasting bread, and the sound of sizzling coming from the kitchen. He stirs himself off the couch before the memory of Michael tucking him in filters back into the forefront of his mind.

He’s going to have to do something about that. He can’t just have the feel of Michael’s soft lips on his skin in his memories and not do anything about it. He shuffles into the kitchen to find Michael at the stove, humming a lilting melody to himself as he shifts bacon around in the pan.

“Hey, Michael, uhh,” Gerry starts, and Michael turns with a sweet smile on his face. His blond hair is free, tumbling and twisting against his shoulders. God, he’s perfect, it’s hard not to stare.

“Did you sleep alright? I know that sofa isn’t the best and, uh, I was going to offer you the bed, but well, you feel asleep, and you’ve had a rough couple of days, I didn’t want to disturb you, and-.”

“Michael, uh, um,” Goddam it, Gerry, speak, for fuck’s sake.

Michael frowns, and sets down his spatula, “Gerry, are you alright?”

“Fuck it,” Gerry says. He steps into Michael’s space and grabs a fistful of Michael’s sweater, pulling him down gently to press their lips together. Michael makes a pleasant noise of surprise, and Gerry presses closer, placing his hands on Michael’s jaw, fingertips rough on smooth skin. The kiss is sweet and slow, and Gerry is delighted to feel Michael pull in a breath against him before tilting his head to deepen the kiss.

Gerry pulls back but doesn’t move away, until he does, and Michael blinks back to himself, “Oh, the breakfast! It’ll burn.” He turns back to the stove, curtain of curls doing nothing to hide the furious blush across his cheeks.

Michael collects what he’s cooked onto two plates and ushers Gerry back into the living room. They eat in silence for a few moments. Gerry watches Michael carefully, hoping he’s not about to freak out or anything. Michael steadfastly does not meet Gerry’s gaze, but Gerry can still see him fighting off a smile as he chews thoughtfully on his bacon.

Gerry eventually turns on the tv, unable to deal with the heavy silence. Throughout the meal Gerry can feel Michael working himself up beside him. He can feel the energy of him buzzing away, until finally he snatches the remote and mutes the telly and rounds on Gerry. He’s deathly still, yet still vibrating.

All at once he says, “Gerry when you were poisoned you said you love me.”

_I fucking knew I said something_

“So… What’s up with that?” Michael asks shakily.

“Yep,” Gerry chokes out.

“Yep what?” Michael says, voice pitched higher and higher. 

_Explain yourself dammit, he deserves to know_

“I do, uh, love you, I mean,” Gerry manages, every word a battle.

Michael takes several deep breaths, trying his damnedest to contain the wide grin spreading across his face, “Could you- could you say it again? Please?”

Gerry’s face chooses this moment to blush furiously, as he says with more ease, “I love you, Michael.”

Michael breathes out slowly and deliberately. “Cool,” he says, slumping down against Gerry, fitting himself beside him and laying his head on Gerry’s shoulder.

“Is that alright?” Gerry says quietly, baffled by the level-headed response.

Michael slots his fingers between Gerry’s and squeezes their palms together. “Yep,” he says, popping the ‘p’.

**Author's Note:**

> comment and kudos if ya like ;)  
> might do a follow up to this


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